


Chokehold

by Okumen



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]
Category: Black Clover - 田畠裕基 | Tabata Yuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assisted Suicide, BDSM, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Both sexual and not, Burns, Cannibalism, Casual Murder, Character Death, Convoluted plans, Dark fic, Dirty Talk, Disembowelment, Execution, Explicit Language, Explicit Rape, Explicit Sexual Content, False rape accusations, Finger Fucking, Finger Sucking, Frame Job, Gore, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Indirect murder, Interrupted Suicide, Knife Play, M/M, Pain, Prompt: Domestic Abuse, Prompt: Stabbing, Prompt: Taking the Bullet, Prompt: Wrongfully Arrested, Prostitution, Revenge, Rimming, Sadomasochism, Scarification, Trauma, Untreated Mental Illness, also misusing them, also pre-canon i suppose, and other false accusations, both dangerous consensual sex and dangerous non-consensual sex, finger sucking up there is supposed to be finger fucking but i suppose theres some of that too, fucked-up logic, i THINK this covers the basics, if you think i should add something else just let me know, it’s actually pretty damn messed up, making the most of healing items, off-screen child prostitution, physical and verbal abuse, safewords both honored and ignored, settling grudges, so READ ALL THE TAGS BEFORE READING THE FIC, some seriously twisted ways to protect, this is not a happy fic, threats and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: Some say the Devil is dead and buried in Whitechapel. Some say he disappeared from mind and fell in love with the kingdom's young princess.





	1. Tooth and Nail

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a whole lot of triggering content. It's a very dark fic, and contains things like rape, murder, suicide, homophobia, execution, frame jobs, sadomasochism, cannibalism, revenge, and child prostitution. Make sure that you read all the tags attached to this fic before you actually read it, and let me know if you think I missed something important.
> 
> This fic is for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. It's one prompt per chapter, except for the fifth which is only a short epoligue. This chapter covers the prompt _Wrongfully Arrested_.
> 
> As a note, I take requests for both this bingo card (Bad Things Happen) and for a Kink bingo card, you can find information about it at my tumblr (okumenffs) or dreamwidth (okumen).

It was still early morning when he woke up, judging by the shades of the sky outside the window. Jack watched the sky slowly brighten for a few minutes. He had an arm draped over his side and a leg between his own, a foot hooked around his leg. Jack rubbed a thumb just above a hip bone, and Nozel, the person curled up against him, let out one of his little sounds. The man blinked awake slowly, and Jack licked his lips at the sleep drunken face and tousled hair. Nozel was not awake enough to glare at him properly yet and he only managed a funny expression. Jack’s fingers curled against the man’s hip bone and a smile crept across his face.

Nozel wriggled, trying to extract his leg from in-between Jack's. Jack kept it in place however, trapping it where the older man had stuck it in sleep. Nozel managed a somewhat harsher scowl for a fraction of a second. Jack slipped his fingers down Nozel's spine, just barely feeling the bumps underneath his skin. His nails scraped against the smooth surface. Nozel's back curved in response to the touch. Jack rubbed his thumb against his tailbone, then slipped his fingers further and buried a finger knuckle-deep inside of Nozel's ass. Nozel let out a startled whine. His muscles twitched. Jack grasped his hip and pressed Nozel into the mattress. He could still feel traces of how he had been used the night before. Nozel was facing him, his body exposed because the sheets barely covered his hips and because Jack had pushed them further down to get a better grip on him. Nozel writhed, or at least he tried to, as Jack abused his prostate. The sheets slipped down a little, and Jack could see Nozel's cock strain against them. “Feels good when I fill you up, Princess?” Jack asked. Nozel's response was an insistent jerk of his hips. “You want me to stuff more up your ass pussy, don't you?” He already had several of his fingers inside, but there was always more to stuff him with. Nozel let out a whine and nodded. He wasn't awake enough for words, or maybe he was simply too horny to use them. “You're shivering like crazy, little bird. Your mind might break if I fuck you now. You okay with that?” He received another nod in reply. Jack snorted, amused as he often was when he thought about the contrast between Nozel at work and Nozel getting fucked. Horny little asshole. He huffed out another laugh. Jack leaned in close to Nozel's ear. “Not that I'd care if you said no.” That was a lie, but it was a part of their games, and they had words and gestures for when they wanted to stop for real. The lie was met with a needy little sound anyway.

Jack called those little sounds that Nozel made ‘‘chirps’’. The guy was a little bird after all. He was an Eagle, and he was much smaller than Jack in more ways than one. It was suitable. Those chirps were both cute and hot. Shit, he wanted to shove his cock up the prissy little noble’s ass and fill him up with so much cum that he swelled up from it and it came up out of his face. Closest he could get to that was cumming in his mouth and throat a dozen times or so and make him hold it in while he fucked him in the ass. Maybe there were spells for it, too.

Separating their bodies and pulling his fingers out of Nozel's ass, and hearing a moan and seeing a hazy glare, Jack pushed Nozel's chest into the mattress and moved down. He picked up one of the bottles of oil that lay discarded at the foot of the messy bed. He grabbed at Nozel's waist, pulled him toward him and lifted him up by his hips. Still sitting legs crossed on the bed, Jack buried his face between Nozel's ass cheeks. Nozel grappled with the sheets for support and his body curved. Probably a little uncomfortably, but he had become more flexible from fucking Jack for nearly a decade now.

Jack slipped his tongue against the ring of muscle and he felt how it tensed and twitched. Nozel’s insides were warm around his tongue when he pressed it inside. The sounds the man made were beautiful. Jack pulled his tongue out, and he flipped Nozel over. Jack put his mouth to his straining cock, and he ran his tongue from the base to the tip. Nozel wrapped his legs around his neck, foot locking around his ankle. The look on Nozel’s face, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his teeth dug into the lower lip, was incredibly hot. His eyes were glazed over, misty with lust.

When Nozel came he did so barely restrained. Jack chuckled around the nobleman’s cock and his slashing smile dripped some cum down his chin. So fucking hot, he wanted to mess him up so bad. Jack dropped Nozel back into his lap, bending Nozel’s legs back and pressing his knees against the sheets. Nozel spread open underneath him, flushed, sweaty, hair sticking to his skin, throbbing, so horny he looked like he was in pain, absolutely gorgeous. Jack shifted, and he pressed Nozel’s legs further down when he leaned over him. He scratched his teeth against his neck, buried them in his shoulder. Nozel pressed his face into Jack’s neck, a muffled groan brushing against his skin. “Hold this, little bird.” He squeezed one of Nozel’s legs in his hand. Nozel let out a dazed noise of confusion. Jack snorted. “Man you’re so messed up.” He let go of Nozel’s leg and pulled his hand to grasp it instead. He slipped his free hand down between his legs, and he positioned himself at Nozel’s asshole. He pushed the head of his cock inside, and he jerked his hips forward, deep inside with a hard thrust. Nozel’s cry was pressed against Jack’s skin.

He fucked him good and hard, pressed filthy secrets into his ear and his cock as far up his ass as it could go. He was so fucking beautiful and Jack wanted him all to himself, wanted to mark him as his, wanted to carve his name, red letters on a pale canvas, into his skin. He fucked him good and hard, scratching red lines in the skin of his back that bled red drops staining the sheets and spreading in the sweat soaked linen. He fucked him until he was on the verge of passing out, and Jack then lay beside him, tracing the bloody scratches in his skin. Nozel shivered underneath his fingers. Bis breathing was rough and shallow at the same time, and blood was drying on his skin, in the sheets.

Jack pressed the healing artifact snatched from one of the Silva mansion’s storage rooms into Nozel’s hands, and a soft glow enveloped him. Nozel had to fit his nails in between the cracks of the egg-shaped artifact to not lose his grip on it, and it rested against the red marks created by teeth and nails on his chest. Jack watched as the marks slowly started to fade when the skin healed, and he felt a sense of bitterness boil in his throat.

Nozel’s eyes fluttered open, searching him out. “What is that noise meant to imply?” he asked with an exhausted, raspy voice, and Jack blinked a few times, until a smile cut his face in two. He moved to hover above him, hands on either side of the pretty little nobleman’s head of mussed hair and flushed cheeks. “That no matter how many times you use that thing, it’s useless; you’ll just end up worse next time.” Nozel gave him a tired nudge with his knee. “Well? Go ahead then, see if you can mark me up faster than it can heal me.”

“That’s not even a challenge,” Jack decided with a snort. A blade shimmering green materialized between them. “You really want me to do that right now?” Nozel’s gaze rested a long while on the blade, in thoughtful silence slowed down by sex. “We do have a merit ceremony today,” he said finally. “It would not do to be late, and I need to ensure those of my subordinates who are to attend arrive on time.”

The blade between them dissipated, disappearing back into Jack’s arm. Jack leaned down so their faces were close. The haze had evaporated from Nozel’s pretty eyes, leaving them clear of lust-filled mist. Jack pressed long fingers against Nozel’s thigh, close to a healing bruise. “I need to wash off,” Nozel pointed out, but Jack didn’t pull back. Instead he held down his hips with a knee, and slipped his other hand down between his legs. Nozel’s hips jerked when Jack slipped his fingers, edges sharpened by his mana skin, inside of him. His head tipped sideways, and he tried to stifle his sounds with his own shoulder to little success. He clutched tightly to the decorated egg. Jack kept his face close to Nozel’s, bending down to bite at his ear, and run his long tongue along the shell.

“Ja— The time-...”

“Don’t worry about that, little bird. S’ long as you don’t try to sit during the ceremony you’ll manage. I wanna see you squirm, knowing you’ve got marks in obvious places while you’re in public.” He could hear Nozel’s nails scrape against the egg that was trying its best to heal him the instant he received new cuts. “You’re a— menace.”

“A pain in the ass?” Nozel kicked him with some effort in the back. “Shut up, idi-ot-!” Jack bit deep marks into his ear, lapped up the blood. “Not funny?” The question was met with a breathy snort. “Not funn-ah!” Cum spilled over Nozel’s skin, and Jack bent over to lick it off. “You’re impossible,” Nozel muttered as he watched. His cheeks were once again flushed and his lips were once more swollen from how he had treated them with his own teeth. “You’re a fucking masochist,” Jack snorted into Nozel’s belly. Nozel gave his back another kick, and he jerked and groaned when it caused the sharp fingers cut against his insides. “And you’re, a damn sadist,” he retorted after regaining his words. Jack hummed. “You sure know how to flatter a guy, princess.” He slipped his sharpened fingers out of him, pulled him back in, and slipped a mana-altered cock inside of him. Nozel slapped his hands over his mouth to hold back a scream. The egg rolled off his chest, and Jack caught it before it rolled over the edge of the bed. Nozel muffled another scream, and Jack moved slowly, slowly, inside of him, thrusting and pulling, and he watched Nozel twist and try to be still at the same time. He came with another muffled scream, spilling seed all over himself and back curling so far it looked like he might snap his spine.

Jack pulled Nozel’s hands aside, and pressed the tip of the egg against his tightly pressed-together lips. “You shouldn’t lose this thing, princess. You need it.” It would have been way more bizarre than ir were, seeing the miz of pain and pleasure in Nozel’s eyes, had he not seen it so many times before. He really was a huge fucking masochist. Nozel parted his lips and wrapped his lips around the egg and dug his teeth into it as best as he was able; Jack kept the egg in place as he kept fucking him.

Nozel hit his fisted hand against Jack’s shoulder, thumb against his skin, and Jack slowed down and stopped moving. He pulled the egg, still doing its best to try to heal Nozel, from Nozel’s lips. “Carnation, ‘s it?” Nozel shook his head. “Gladiolus,” he panted out. He reached upward, grasping at Jack. Carefully, to not upset his nether regions too much, Jack pulled him into his arms, and Nozel wrapped himself around Jack, pressed his lips tightly to his skin. “Y’good?” he asked, and Nozel nodded. Filthy little beauty, so needy, so addicted. Jack snapped his hips up, deeper into Nozel, and the muffled screams mixed with pleas that only were made up by Jack’s name. Jack watched the egg, considered, and while Nozel shuddered from another orgasm and collapsed exhausted against Jack, Jack pulled his cock out of the man, and pushed the still activated magical tool inside the man’s ass. Nozel made confused, incoherent noises. “So you don’t go lose it. Maybe you should keep it stuffed up there all the time, give you some practice and make sure you can always be healed wherever you are getting fucked up.” Mingled with Nozel’s words were a needy sound. “I’ll be found out that way.” Jack brushed his lips against his skin. “Then I can finally claim you for myself, little bird.”

 

 

 

It was late in the forenoon when they parted, and Jack wanted to shove Nozel up against a wall and fuck him senseless again. After rolling in the hay with Nozel, Jack was always in a good mood for the rest of the day, and the members of his squad could tell as much. They didn’t really appreciate his good mood. Their opinion was that it only was trouble for them. Maybe it was, but he didn’t really care. He was satisfied for the moment, and he was going to bask in the feeling of a good fuck.

 

 

It was after some long days of work, during which Jack sent out several members on missions and went on a short one on his own, that he joined Nozel in his bedchamber again. Tying him down to the bed with a rope that looped around its underside, pinning him down and fucking him for hours, it all felt so good.

Jack was bent over him, fingers digging into skin and teeth grazing veins and muscles. His nails dragged against the raw skin burned red by rope, scratched against bruises caused by violent tugging and skin hitting skin, nails caught in thin cuts and he reveled in the mix of hisses of pain and chirps of pleasure. He watched the rough rope twisted around the sweaty body beneath him, watched the mess the normally elegant person had turned into. Sweaty, mussed, covered in sperm. The picture of a well-fucked little bird, close to passing out from both the lack of oxygen caused by rope he pulled taut and let loose around his own neck because it was attached by one end to Nozel’s arm, and from the pleasure of their time together.

It was always amazing to see the man like this, a complete wreck only for Jack, because of Jack.

Jack wasn’t done yet, though. He buried rough and hard inside him again after cumming across his back, bent over him and pulled back his head to kiss him on swollen, bloodied lips.

There was sudden noise.

Jack stiffened, and he felt Nozel clench around him and tense underneath him, when something slammed into the door. They heard a voice mutter curses and the door was suddenly no more.

The shocked silence was loud, his blood pounded in his ears. Then—

_“How dare you!”_

The boy bellowed the words, and unrefined water directed its violent path toward Jack. Jack pulled away from Nozel — he heard an involuntary whine — and slashed the waterbeast in half; it fell in a hard, short rain to the floor. The boy— Nozel’s younger brother— turned, and ran. That was fast— “Jack! Free me now!”

Jack complied to the barked-out order, even though he loathed to listen to the man’s orders and preferred to mess him up further each time he was given one; Nozel grabbed a shirt and pulled it on as he dashed off out the room, after his brother.

The boy was already gone, disappeared out of the base. Nozel stood in a window, fingers tightly gripping the sill, and looked angrily into the distance. When he heard Jack approach he turned, pulled him back toward his bedchamber in a haste. He started to grab clothes and pull them on, and he grasped a healing item as he rushed though the room; the glow around him emanated from a pocket and his wounds and bruises started to heal.

“He’ll be going to father,” he said as he hurried around the room. “I need to clear this misunderstanding before anything bad happens.”

“Bad how, exactly?”

Nozel stopped, and turned an intense gaze onto Jack. It was so intense that Jack felt a shiver run down his spine. _Fuck._ “It’s my father. He could do literally anything, if he thinks the family has been dishonored.”

“Not you? But your family?” Nozel’s silence was answer enough. It was the family that mattered the most of all. Nozel grabbed his broom, and he made way out of the building. Jack followed suit, dressed and wanting to clear up his intentions with this messed-up family. Nozel stopped and placed a hand against his chest. His gaze was on his own hand, not on Jack’s face. “It would be better if you stay away.”

Jack was unhappy with the statement, but he didn’t protest.

 

 

 

They appeared in the middle of the night. The King’s personal guards, magic knights specifically assigned to protecting the King and following his orders. Rape, torture, treason and crime against the Crown, they said. That was what he was arrested for. Jack bristled, wondered loudly where these accusations came from, wondered loudly about the basis, the proof. The soldiers didn’t know or care about the details; at least they claimed as much. But Jack knew where the accusations came from.

He was dragged in front of the court, bloodied because of his protests and his claims about the truth, and he heard the soldiers spew out how he lied about the young Silva heir, saying that he had permitted everything Jack had done to him, what they did together, to each other. None of them could understand it. How a nobleman, a _royal_ , would ever allow a commoner to bed them, tie them up, cut them, injure them, be that close.

Nozel was pale-faced and distress was written across his face. He tried to defend Jack, but nobody listened. Nozel’s father claimed that he had been indoctrinated and corrupted by Jack. That he wasn’t in control of his own mind. That he had been made to believe that he had wanted what Jack did to him. It became more and more obvious that his father had made up his mind from the start, and that he had absolutely no intention of listening to a word of what his son said.

They had already made up their minds.

Julius arrived as the King was shouting for the- probably something like the fiftieth time- that Jack should be executed.

No matter how much the Magic Emperor tried to get everybody to listen to Jack’s and Nozel’s side of the story, the King and Lord Silva were not interested in even considering for a second that Jack and Nozel may have been involved in only consensual activities, no matter how absurd and sadistic and messed up they may have been. Maybe Julius didn’t know what to think, maybe he believed Nozel was out of his mind, maybe he believed that he was sane, but it didn’t matter in the end.

“For your crimes against the Crown, I sentence you to death by beheading!”

Jack closed his eyes and cursed the King, cursed the Lord, and he wished that the pain wouldn’t be so visibly written across his pretty little bird’s face.


	2. Foolish Mortals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains as many trigger warnings as the first chapter. There is physical and verbal abuse, explicit rape, sadomasochism, violence, homophobia, blood, and death. This is not a pleasant chapter. As mentioned over at the first chapter, make sure to read all the tags up top.
> 
> The prompt is _Taking the Bullet_ and in some ways it's direct(ish) and other ways not.

A kick to the face was the reward for a snarky comment. Jack spat blood and part of a tooth bounced on the dirty floor tiles. He ran his tongue along the cut-off tooth still within his mouth; out of all the things that he’d been through in his life, it had to be a kick given by his lover’s despicable old man that actually left lasting damage.

“You filthy, depraved _mongrel_ ,” the older man snarled at him. Jack glared up at him from his position on the floor. He was stuck in a dark dungeon buried deep underneath the ground, his magic locked away by the chains that kept him close to the wall. Not that that rendered him harmless, though nobody realized it. “You deserve this. You deserve to die. Much more painfully than what’s in store. You dare lay a hand on _my_ son. You will face the consequences, deviant scum.”

A smile slashed across Jack’s face, twisted and wicked, a bleeding wound cut by a sharp blade, but his eyes were cold and truthful. “You’re the scum, Mr. Royal. Your son wanted everything I did, he asked for it and he fucking loved every minute of it. You denying that isn’t going to change that.” The man could deny it all he wanted, he could even get Jack convicted and executed for crimes he had not committed — which was pretty ridiculous, because he could just get him executed for crimes he actually _had_ committed if only he bothered to look into his past with some thorough investigation— and he could be so cruel that he didn’t listen at all to his son’s grief-stricken pleas. Jack climbed to his feet, and stared the royal straight in the eye. Eyes the color of his beloved, but so much colder. “You don’t give a fucking shit about him, or what he feels. You don’t care that he’s a person with feelings. All you care about is that he’s _yours_ , that it’s _your_ family, that _your_ reputation is at stake. Because he chose to be with someone that actually cares about him. Because he’s with someone who wants him to be happy. Just because we’re both men and because the way we express ourselves and our feelings for each other is different. _You_ ’re the fucking criminal who’s kept on hurting him, _you_ ’re the one who deserve to die for what you keep doing to him- to all your children. I care about him, I care about him _a whole hell of a lot_ , unlike _you_ , who don’t give a _fuck_ about him being his own person.”

He didn’t get to talk uninterrupted, but despite the blows that the man aimed at him- weak and pathetic- he kept talking. Jack knew that the man hated to think the thought that his son was different, that he had his own way of thinking, that he was a _deviant_.

“Shut up, shut up you twisted son of a whore! My son is not as abnormal like you! He is a _Silva_ , he is _royalty!_ You’re just filthy dreg worth less than a pebble!”

Jack kept smiling, kept retorting, kept insulting and kept talking about Nozel. Nozel who would look so beautifully unravelled underneath him, stained with blood and cum and passion. Beside his father in the King’s audience chamber, he had still been beautiful, but he had been frightened and upset, shivering and truly helpless.

It was far more painful to remember his expression of that time, his body language, than Jack would have ever imagined that it might be.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that pain.

Most of all, he didn’t like the agony etched into his lover’s skin, and if it so was the last thing he did, which it probably would be, he wanted to do something to at least alleviate it, even if it was just a little. Even if it was twisted, and corrupted his love for him.

 

 

 

The chains rattled loudly with each movement Jack made. He looked at the thick cuffs clasped around his wrists, and he wiggled one a little. They were tight and difficult to move at all, but he saw a sliver of red from where they have chafed. They cut off the flow of mana, disabling him from using magic. In the eyes of the nobility, surely that was the worst part of the punishment; not being able to use magic.

He had messed up. But this would have been his fate had anyone found out about what he had done before becoming a magic knight anyway. Sometimes he was even surprised that nobody had checked- the nobility was furious when they found out that Julius had given captainhood to a commoner. Not as furious as when Yami had gotten his own, brand new squad, but furious enough. Had they gone to his hometown, to the shit-stain that was Farka, had they gone beyond the white-painted houses to talk to the people hiding in the gutter, they would have eventually found out the truth about him. But they were too fine for that, it was beneath them to go so out of their way, to the middle of nowhere, the end of the fucking world.

The door groaned as it opened, and Jack shifted his gaze up. In his pristine clothing and ridiculous hairdo, the little princess looked incredibly out of place in the filthy dungeon. “Welcome to my humble abode, Mr. Royalty,” Jack said, and he spread his hands as if to welcome him to his home. “Here to spew curses over me like your dear old man was?”

Nozel had stopped in front of him, and he wore that expression where he looked down on everyone and everything. It was an expression that sort of suited him, yet also didn’t. It was an expression that made Jack want to fuck him up. He _needed_ to fuck him up. Jack felt the steel of the normal knives, entirely unmagical, that he kept hidden away on his person press against his skin even more clearly- the people in the royal capital never thought of checking people for material weapons, because to them, magic was the only weapon worth their time. To Jack, a simple knife was the most familiar weapon of all.

“What he chooses to do with his time is not up to me,” the little nobleman said slowly. His voice and expression were so composed it made Jack’s skin crawl, and images of other times when the man had desperately been trying to keep his composure was passing through his mind. “Even though he says that he’ll watch with joy as they cut off the head of his sons rapist?” He saw how Nozel flinched. He saw how his face shifted with emotion. He saw how he tried to remain composed. Fuck it turned him on to see the man battle with himself, with his own emotions and with what was expected of him. Fuck, Jack knew he was messed up and that he shouldn’t be turned on in this situation, where he was just sitting around waiting to be brought to the chopping block, but it didn’t matter. He had the messed up stuff in his genes, had inherited it from his messed up mother and had grown into it as he grew up, thanks to the way she had brought him up. Thanks to how he was simply by nature. That was why he enjoyed the way the agony won over the other emotions reflected on Nozel’s face. That was why, at the same time, seeing that expression hurt. He needed it to hurt differently. “He won’t listen to me. Even as I try to explain, he won’t have it. He refuses to believe that I could ever choose to be with another in such fashions-...particularly with somebody who isn’t nobility, though he surely would never forgive that either.”

“That’s because you’re seriously fucked up in the head, princess.” Nozel tensed, his whole body going rigid. “Nobody who’s sane would let another man cut them up and fuck them like that. You should be locked up for your own safety.” The chains rattled when Jack stood, and he loomed over Nozel. Nozel didn’t move, and Jack put a hand to his chin to twist his head so his face was turned up at him. “Trusting people like me with your life. You’re seriously insane.” But JAck was way worse. That vile old man Silva was right. “Insane people are so easy to trick into being willful slaves.”

Nozel was too stiff, too locked in shock at the words Jack spewed at him, and he didn’t stand a chance when Jack twisted, pressed him up against the wall, tangling his wrists and his neck in the chains and trapping him there. Steel flashed in the dim light cast by the magical torch that fell and rolled across the floor, and pressed against pale, supple skin just near a pulsing vein. “And you make for one crazily eager, sick slave.” He could feel the little nobleman shiver underneath him. Jack pressed his lips close to Nozel’s ear. Tasted his little bird’s skin with a tender touch and cruel word. “You’ll be my slave until either of us die, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be me who does so first.” The smell of blood hit his nose when the knife cut through skin, a thin fine line, so close to where he could easily end the other mans life. He licked up the trail of blood, feeling the taste go straight to his cock. He felt so hot, and at the same time, he wanted to throw up. “I’m going to die, and you’re to blame.”

“Jack—”

“And now you’ve come like this,” Jack cut Nozel off before he could really say anything. Jack trailed the knife along his throat, slipping it in under the fabric at the gap by his chest. “with no guards, offering yourself up like the good little slave that you are. I bet that anyone who knows how you’ve allowed me to debase you looks down on you now, and they’d look down on you even more if they knew everything. Your reputation would be completely ruined if they found out.” He cut through the fabric, slashing downward to expose more and more of the royal’s chest. “I’ll let you know something that’d make you lose so much face that you’d have to leave your position and wouldn’t even be able to escape into the seclusion of a monastery.” His knife stopped at Nozel’s navel, a little bit above his belt. “My mother was a whore. My father was some random foreigner whose name I don’t even know.” The knife slid further down, scraping across fabric but not cutting. “I used to whore myself out too, because we were _that_ poor. Probably caught some disease that I’ve given to you.” That was a lie. He always, after he left that life behind, made sure that he was clean and if he wasn’t, he made sure to get treated before doing anything that could infect his pretty little nobleman with anything actually dangerous. “I should let your old man fuck me to infect him. A small but easy revenge for what you’re letting him do to me, right?” Nozel shook his head. At a loss for words, he barely even got out the whine that erupted his throat. “No? Then what if he fucked you instead to make up for it? Infect him through you.” Silence and a lack of movement met those words, and Jack’s smile twitched, then widened further. He felt sick to the stomach. But he had already decided; there was no turning back. “You’d actually let him fuck you? You really _are_ fucked in the head. You must’ve been fucked stupid by way more people than me to have become such a slut.” Nozel shook his head even harder. “I didn’t- I didn’t let anyone but you do that.” Jack pressed the knife closer to Nozel’s thigh. “You didn’t? That’s so sweet, I’m almost touched. I fucked people other than you, though.” Lies. “But I gotta say, you were the most promiscuous and eager one of all, princess. But I’m not entirely finished with my story, so be quiet.” The sound that Nozel made sounded almost jealous. That truly was sweet. And so fucked up. Jack wanted to take him right then, the way he used to. But he couldn’t. “I’ve killed people. Way before I became a magic knight. Just go to Farka and ask about all those disembowelled women thirteen and more years ago. Oh, and one more important detail you might find interesting. The last one I murdered before coming to take that ridiculous magic knight exam, you know who that was?” He was silent for several heartbeats, building up the impact that his words would have. “ _My mother._ ”

Jack had known that saying that would make Nozel react. Nozel who, half a lifetime ago, had lost his own mother, and still mourned and was in such pain over it that he couldn’t bear to look at his own little sister. Nozel who wouldn’t be able to understand how anyone could do anything to hurt their own mother, who wouldn’t be able to understand how anyone could _kill_ their own mother. Because he had loved his own mother more than anything. Because his own pain was still so raw, like a wound that kept being picked at and not allowed to scab and scar and heal. Fifteen years down the road and he still suffered from his mother’s death. And as such, he would never be able to understand, no matter the motives. As a result, he would not be able to forgive Jack. That was what he needed.

Nozel thrashed back against Jack. He attempted to break free of his hold and of his chains. The knife sliced a deep wound into his thigh, and the smell of blood permeated the air. Jack slammed him back against the wall, and he pressed the knife close to his spine. He tightened the chain around his neck and Nozel desperately gasped for air.

“Now now, princess. It’s far too late for that. It’s your own fault for dropping by, thinking I would never do anything to you against your will. But,” The knife pressed even closer, breaking both cloth and skin. “If you scream, if you let out any noise, I’ll cut through your spine. Not even your precious magic tools can heal paralyzation. So be a good slave and keep quiet while I use you as I want.”

Nozel was shivering again. Shivering with emotions mixed on his face. Anger. Fear. Hatred. (It was bad. Good.) But he did stand perfectly still. And he pressed his lips tightly together. So obedient, his precious little bird. Loosening the chains around Nozel’s neck just enough to give him some air, Jack pressed up against him, pressed his clothed cock against his ass and his back so that he could feel how hard he was. _Despite everything._ Jack moved the knife into his other hand, held it pressed against Nozel’s spine. He slipped his empty hand down to Nozel’s thigh, and he dipped his fingers in the blood, dug his nails into the wound. Nozel let out a pained noise, unable to completely keep it down, and as a punishment (once it would have also been a reward), Jack buried his nails deeper. He held them there for some moments, feeling how Nozel was tense and shaking and trying to hold his pain in check. When Jack pulled his hand away, Nozel slumped forward, and Jack moved his hand up to his chest. He smeared blood on his skin, drew lines on his slender form, and he pressed his fingers to the man’s lips. “You know what to do,” he told him, and after some hesitation that was rewarded with a tug on the chain wrapped around his neck, Nozel parted his lips to mumble “Carnation,” the word they used for Nozel to tell him that he really wanted Jack to stop, but Jack ignored him for the first and only time, and he slipped his fingers into his mouth, past shivering lips. “Go on,” Jack prompted, and after some moments of perfect standstill, Nozel slid his tongue along the digits. He sucked and nibbled lightly, and it caused electricity to run up Jack’s spine. No matter what, it seemed it was always hot to have the man do that. Man, he was fucked up. He wanted to make him suck him off too, but there was a chance that he’d use the opportunity to break free and flee. But not yet. Maybe in a bit.

Jack pulled his fingers free of Nozel’s mouth, and the whine the man couldn’t keep down went straight to Jack’s cock. Fucking hell, Nozel was just as fucked up as Jack was. Maybe Jack had just done so much to him over the years that he couldn’t help it, even in a situation like this. Maybe that was why he turned out ot be rock hard, when Jack hooked his hand into the tear in the trouser fabric and ripped to reveal both the man’s ass and his cock. “Fuck, princess, you’re really eager even now. Your cock is dripping. I guess I trained you good.” When Jack grasped Nozel’s cock and twisted his grip around it, he could hear the man’s breath shiver, and could feel him arch against him. He felt a warm wetness spill against his fingers, and when he turned his gaze down, his smile cut across his face. “You’re sick,” he stated, watching the cum shine on his fingers. “Seriously sick. You should get yourself checked into a madhouse.”

“Shut... up-...” Nozel breathed out past wet lips. Jack sliced the knife into his skin, deep enough to touch bone, and Nozel was forced to stifle a cry of pain. “Thought I told you to be the one to shut up, pet.” Nozel glared at him with that mixture of emotions. Jack prevented himself from sucking in a sharp breath at the intensity.

_Fuck._

He slipped his fingers in between them, freed his aching cock from his trousers, and he spread Nozel’s ass open best he could with only one hand. He had gone in raw and without preparation before, but he wasn’t entirely going to do that. Only just barely. He shifted the knife back into the hand with maneuverability. Nozel hissed as the cut he drew into his skin stung, and blood flowed. He drew lines into his lower back, carved his mark deep into his skin. Nozel shook at the pain, agony on his breath. A moment later, Jack had replaced the knife by Nozel’s spine, and he rubbed his cock between Nozel’s ass cheeks. Nozel bit his lip to stifle the continued hisses when Jack rubbed against the cut. With only the nobleman’s blood to slick himself and the hole up, Jack pressed his head against the ring of muscles, and he pressed inside, hard and sharp. Only the chain tightening around Nozel’s throat strangled the pained cry, and Jack felt Nozel’s fingers twitch and search for any form of purchase. Jack pressed closer, pressed further. He pulled back almost all the way out, and slammed into him again. Again and again. He let the chain loosen and tighten at intervals, and he felt Nozel shiver and shake, clench and relax, suffocated his moans and felt and saw him cum. The man had completely lost control over his own body, and had it not been for the cold, filthy stone wall in front of him and Jack’s body behind him, he would surely have collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor. The man didn’t seem to notice or care that Jack had retracted the knife and let it fall to the floor.

Eventually, Jack let the chains loosen and let Nozel slide to the ground. The man was a mess, his eyes were glossed over, his face was dirty, with tear tracks staining his flushed cheeks. Cum was pooling out of him, and his own stained the wall and his skin and clothes. Jack’s chest was tight, a pain achin within his whole being. Jack shifted the chains, letting them release his wrists, and using those still wrapped around his neck to guide him into turning around. Jack crouched down to kiss him, one last, soft kiss, and though Nozel tried to recoil, he had no energy for it.

It was the cry of pain that Jack finally allowed Nozel to release that finally alerted the guards outside, though they really should have realized that something was wrong due to the time that passed, and the sound of skin hitting skin, of chain grinding against chain.

They found Jack with his teeth buried in Nozel’s throat, blood bubbling around his wide open mouth, and when they wrenched Jack off of him, Nozel let our another cry.

The look that he directed at Jack was one of utter betrayal, and it was the last expression that Jack saw before the prison cell turned pitch black once more, as the door slammed shut.

The guards would later return, giving him a beating within the inch of his life. All the while, Jack couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

 

 

 

In retaliation to the attack, Nozel’s father appeared in Jack’s cell. The man was vengeful and angry, his pride damaged both by what had happened and what he thought had happened. He would never accept that Nozel had willingly let himself get played by someone like Jack for years. He would never allow what had happened in the cell. Nearly a decade together, and this was how it was going to end.

Well, to be honest, Jack had known that he would leave the world like this.

Not exactly like this, drawn up to a chopping block with his lover staring at him with an expression so confusing that he couldn’t even begin to read it. There was pain, there was betrayal, there was hatred, there was feelings Jack wasn’t sure that he knew the name of.

 

But like this, because he always knew that it would end badly for him. Though he had thought that it would be because he had finally been discovered as a serial killer, and not because he had made the mistake of falling for a stuck-up little nobleman who happened to be of royal blood.

 

Even the King was there. Haughty and stuck-up and selfish. He didn’t really care that Nozel had been hurt, he only cared for the perceived damage to his own and the Crown’s reputation. The same went for old man Silva, Nozel’s father. The hatred that was aimed at him from Nozel’s two younger siblings who were also present was palpable, though. They were terrible people, but they did care about their elder brother. Julius’ face held bitterness, pain, betrayal, even pity; he was much easier to read than Nozel, because he wore his expressions openly on his face.

 

Julius had visited Jack after he had attacked Nozel for real. Jack had not tried to explain himself. There was nothing to explain, really. Julius wouldn’t understand even if Jack did explain why he had chosen to do what he had done. So even though the Magic Emperor pleaded with him, Jack just smiled and told him that nothing would change even if he did explain, because the truth was horrible anyway.

 

He ignored everyone else, the nobles, the other magic knights, everyone.

Instead, Jack focused on only Nozel. Stared him straight in the eyes and smiled, his smile cutting a cruel line across his face, and Nozel stood petrified, unable to tear his gaze away.

The executioner, a mage working especially for the King solely for this purpose, readied their spell, and wasn’t it ironic that somebody who fought with and hurt people with blades would meet their end by another person’s blade.

The last thing he saw was agony, and the last thing that he heard was despair.


	3. Born of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in previous chapters, this is a fic you want to read all the AO3 tags on before reading the fic, because it's a messed-up fic. This chapter in particular includes things like cannibalism, murder, prostitution (nonexplicit adult, offscreen child), suicide, sadomasochism, untreated mental health issues, etc.
> 
> This is also, as previous chapters, part of the Bad Things Happen Bingo, and lends from the prompt _Domestic Abuse_.

Farka was one of the larger towns at the edge of the common realm of the Clover Kingdom. It was a port town which lay close to the border shared between Clover Kingdom and Heart Kingdom, and as a result a lot of foreigners frequented the city. Due to its close proximity to the forsaken realm, it was not uncommon to see people from that lower realm come to try to make a living in the constantly growing town. It was also close enough to the forsaken realm that people from the noble realm would consider it just another part of it, although it wasn’t drawn within those lines on any map depicting their country.

But it was a dirty town, with slums rampant with violence where those who were unable to make it lived, cowed by fear and poverty, with poor-houses and workhouses and brothels filled to the brim hidden behind the well-maintained houses of the areas most frequented by visitors. The majority of the people living in Farka could not make a living wage, and the filth was ground deep into their skin and posture.

Jack hated this town with all of his being. He hated this town, but he didn’t dislike the view from the top of the tallest roof. It belonged to the church located close to the port, because commerce and faith was the only thing that kept the town from collapsing beneath the heavy yoke of despair. Even on top of that roof, you could feel the smell of salt water and dirt, and hear the cries of the seagulls. He hated this town that he was born and raised in, he hated the people in it, but when he climbed up on top of the bell-tower, the slanted roof’s tiles rough underneath his feet, he could see far off in the distance, and he could imagine just leaving it all behind. All he had to do was bear with it for a while longer, and once he had gone through the grimoire acceptance ceremony in the spring, he would leave for the royal capital, to try to get into the magic knights. If he had been born a few months earlier, he would have already been out of here.

If he did become a magic knight, no one from this stupid town would be able to look down on him or boss him around, or spit at him and call him a son of a whore or a foreigner’s bastard. Even if it was true, it still pissed him off.

Not that his mother was any better than the rest. Different, but no better.

He climbed off the roof and dropped off the crates stacked by a wall where they stood awaiting the sailors to sober up and move them onto the ship that would transport them to God knows where, and followed the sound of his mother’s voice calling his name. Even before he saw her he could tell that she was in _that_ sort of mood again; erratic and wild-eyed, with a manic glint in her eye which he knew he had inherited from her. “Jack! Jack, Jack darling, come come, mommy needs your help, won’t you help mommy out?” Her hands touched his face and her fingers curled in his hair. She didn’t wait for a reply, kneeling instead to get to his level— though by now it put her below his line of sight, as he had started to grow taller and was shooting up like weed; he grew out of his clothes faster than they could be let out. “Jack dear, sweetie, mommy needs you to get another one,” his mother was saying, clasping his hands in hers. “You will do this for mommy right? Of course you will darling, mommy know you will, because mommy has the best son in the whole kingdom, in the whole world, the kindest son a mommy could ask for.” That was debatable, particularly considering what she was asking of him, but he had committed far too many of these crimes for it to have any sort of effect on him any more.

Still, he would comply. He always did.

The woman he chose this time was mostly a stranger to him. He knew that she lived in the same slum district as he did, he knew that she had a younger sister, and he knew that she was a prostitute. His mother was acquainted with her, he supposed, but she had never complained about his chosen targets yet, not even when he killed one of her closest friends.

Nobody cared if a prostitute was murdered. It happened all the time, and the only ones who actually cared were the prostitutes themselves— and yet they could not simply quit, they needed the work, because there was nothing else for them.

So they were ripe for the taking, so to speak, and Jack was very handy with a knife, always had been. He just knew instinctively how to cut to instantly kill, just instinctively knew where to put the knife to cut out body parts with the least amount of damage. If he wanted to he could cut out most body parts without killing the victim, but that wasn’t exactly an option. He didn’t want to get caught, after all.

Jack wrapped the woman’s warm liver in paper he had stolen from the butcher’s shop, and he slipped away into the darkness, through alleys and into the slum. When he returned to their tiny little room which stank of smoke and garbage just as much as the rest of the area did, Jack’s mother lavished him in praise and kisses, and he watched with contempt hidden by a mask of a sharply indifferent smile which grew more and more similar to a sneer each year, as she cooked the liver. He chewed on some scraps of stolen pigsmeat as she downed the entire liver, and his contempt merged with the disgust that she made him feel nearly constantly. He really did hate this town and the people in it.

 

 

Early in the morning he joined a group of other boys and girls, and while gossipping about various things, including the decapitation murders that nobody knew the real story behind, they set out to cause a disturbance to make it easier to steal from some noble target. None of them knew why there was a noble in town, but they could see the way the man looked at the mismatched cobblestones, the worn people, and they could see the distaste and contempt. They all wanted to put the nobleman in his place for looking down on them for simply existing within his line of vision, for the way he and everyone like him stepped on people like them, as if they were worth less than their navel fuzz. Not that they probably weren’t, considering the value of the nobles’ clothes, but _still_ it pissed him and his friends off.

So they caused a distraction, a riot that didn’t only involve them, because it wasn’t only the street rats who hated the nobles, and they slipped sticky fingers into pockets and pouches, palming valuables off of the nobleman and his entourage, and they split the proceeds of the theft between them after selling them to a broker inside the black market hidden away in the slums. They got a lot more than they usually did from any purse, and judging by the look on the broker’s face, it was because of the medallion that had come off of the nobleman. It was heavy and shiny and golden, and etched into it was a large bird of the hunt of some sort, its wings spread along the edge; they nearly touched the tips together, and they framed a cross resting on top of a crown. They had probably been cheated out of a fortune, but Jack didn’t mind entirely, because he had never had as much coin ever than he did right then, and he would finally have enough. He stashed it away in a hiding place so that his mother wouldn’t get hold of it, and so that he wouldn’t get accused of stealing it. Which he hadn’t! He had unlawfully _earned_ that money, unfair and unsquare. But he needed that money for himself.

His mother was in a good mood when he returned, and since he was in a good mood as well, he wasn’t as bothered as he might have been by her enthusiasm. He could do without her trying to coax him into taking clients, though. Not that he didn’t, but today was a good day that he didn’t want to ruin. He listened to her and whatever man she was getting fucked by go at it from a corner in their room while he nibbled on a piece of stale bread, and he thought about what he could do with the money; he would save it, obviously, so that he could get to the royal capital once the magic knights entrance exams came along. But it was fun to imagine. It would probably be terrible to be among all those stuck-up nobles, but as long as he got out of Farka, he didn’t mind; he would do the most of the situation and he would make a place for himself.

And if becoming a magic knight failed, he sure as Hell wasn’t coming back to Farka.

He wasn’t even going to tell his mother that he was going to aim to become a magic knight; he had never told her of that idea, because unlike some slum kids, he wasn’t a total moron. The slum brat son of a whore and a random foreign man wasn’t ever going to get into the magic knights, everybody knew that. There were too many things working against him for that to ever happen. He might as well have had a better chance had he actually been born in the forsaken realm instead of among the Fraka dregs.

 

His mother was in a good mood for the next few days but eventually her mood waned, and Jack could tell that she was growing more and more distraught. She kept on picking up the little looking-glass with its cracked surface, and the handle that had fallen off and the edges that had chipped, and she kept sighing, wringing her hands, and asked him over and over again to search her face.

 

She believed that if she ate the right body part of a beautiful young woman, she would stay youthful and beautiful no matter how she grew older. She did not remember which body-part, exactly, but she claimed to have been told if this piece of ancient magic from a witch.

Jack’s mother wasn’t all that old, she had birthed him at a young age and still looked fairly young and pretty though worn by her hard life, and she was certainly popular, but she was plagued by a lack of self-esteem and a desire to be better, to be prettier, to be younger. He knew she would crack one day and he felt like he was walking on glass, careful not to say anything to tip the scale.

 

So he was prepared when she rounded on him after he had just returned with his meager earnings from a client he had seen behind the ramshackle shed that housed them and other broken families, and he didn’t even flinch when she grabbed him and slammed him into the wall. The wall shook far more than he did, though his body was just as thin and brittle. “Jack, Jack darling, honey, my sweet boy, it’s not working, my little baby, it’s not working.” Her voice, soft and full of endearments, was not matching the look of maniacal distress she wore on her pretty face, or with the touches that would leave bruises on his already damaged skin. “I don’t understand why it won’t work, Jack, Jack, my sweet, Jack, why isn’t it working? It should work, she said it would work, and still it’s not. Jack can you understand? Should I try another? Something else this time? Jack dear, go get another for mommy? That’s a good boy, a good boy, let’s try something else this time, something should work, something, something should, something-”

 

 

Her ramblings echoed through his mind as he searched out an appropriate target, and they still echoed through his mind as he cut her throat, as he carved out her pretty blue eyes, and moved down to pull her dress up to her chin and cut open her stomach to remove more of her intestines. Her ramblings only stopped when she quieted after gushing praise over him. Praise that he didn’t need nor want.

This was how his life had been for as long as he could remember. His mother’s frail mentality, his own weakness for listening when she asked him to kill for her. But he was fifteen, and the end was in sight. He just needed to withstand it a few more months, that was all.

 

And withstand he did, though he would murder and disembowel many more women for his mother’s sake. If he didn’t, she would become unbearable, and he would probably miss his chance to run away from this hell hole of a town at world’s end.

The tome was heavy in his hands as he turned its pages, took in the information. It was both ironic and suitable, that he’d get a grimoire with spells that could cut. There were already a lot of possibilities, in the few spells etched onto its pages.

He was practicing his spells in their room when his mother was away, or when she was asleep. He was concerned that maybe somebody would suspect him of being the so-called Disemboweler of Farka, the East End Prostitute Killer, if he let the wrong person see what he was capable of.

It was a day like any other, except the day he had decided to leave was nearing. He was tense as a result, and maybe it meant that it wasn’t really that normal of a day. Jack was practicing his magic, slicing apart some insects that he had caught down the river a distance away after seeing a customer in that area, and his mother was out searching for customers for herself. He had murdered for her only yesterday, she should have been in a good mood when she returned.

But she wasn’t. Instead she was more erratic than ever, nails clawing deep cuts into Jack’s skin and burning holes with her heated fingertips in his clothes. His mother’s magic was very weak, and the most she could do was create heat- though the warmth of her skin was one of the reasons why she was so very popular during the harsh winters that they faced down by the coast. But sometimes when she was especially distraught she could cause such heat that it might scar. Her current heat was more intense than it had ever been, and it made Jack reel backward, out of her touch. It only upset her further, her voice getting louder and her words growing harsher. Threats to turn him in to the authorities mixed with endearments, and as he tried to calm her, tried to persuade her, he came to realize that she had finally reached her breaking point. He didn’t know what had happened and she was clearly not about to explain it to him. Maybe he could have fixed it otherwise.

He only intended to give her a small cut, because when she normally hurt herself she would instantly be distracted and focus on patching herself up. But his heart rate was elevated and the heat emanating off her skin was unbearably painful and she was shaking him, and the cut went wide. It left a large bleeding gash across her face, and she let out a shriek and fell back, away from him. She pressed her hands to her face, as if she could press the edges of the wound together and it would heal. She burned her own face with her touch, her fingers too hot for even her to be able to withstand. Her screams had started to attract a few onlookers; usually, little yelling could be heard from this small family of two, and their neighbours took note of the change. Jack stood pressed against the wall, the smile he usually wore unable to make way onto his face, and his mother sat sobbing, screaming, on the floor. Still desperately clutching her face.

She was taken to the church, the only place anyone could think of that might help. Healing magic was rare within their community. Jack stayed in their room, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back.

He was still sitting there when the door opened, and his mother tumbled over to him, falling into his arms. Her face was wrapped in stained bandages that were falling off, revealing blisters, an ugly scar from the cut and the burns tearing across her skin. She was sobbing into his clothes, grasping it with shivering hands. “Why did you do that, Jack, Jack, honey you’re supposed to be a good boy, you’ve always been such a good boy to mommy, Jack mommy can’t live like this, you know mommy can’t live like this.” He wrapped his arms around the mother he had never been able to love, feeling oddly protective of her in her vulnerable state. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled into her dirty hair. “You’ll forgive mommy, right? Mommy will forgive you Jack so you have to be a good boy again and help mommy. Mommy needs you to be a really good boy, because mommy can’t take this any more. Mommy is sorry, but mommy needs to let go. Mommy can’t do this anymore. Jack, honey, sweetie, Jack, you’ll manage without mommy, right? Mommy can’t manage without her baby’s help.”

“Yeah, mom, I’ll manage,” he assured her. He searched among his spells for something, and his gaze landed on a page as they stopped flipping. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be all right. You just rest now, mom.” The spell was unfamiliar, but he had practice with all sorts of knives, and the glowing green knife made out of magic was slim as a needle. It pierced the skin at the back of her head without drawing any blood, and it pierced the bone of her skull and buried in her brain. He kept the knife there for several heartbeats, then let it retract and dissipate. It left behind a tiny wound, hidden among strands of thick dark hair. There were traces of mana around the wound, but there was so little of it that within a few hours, it would have dissipated entirely. When the morning arrived, stinging his eyes with its sharp light, she had been laying dead in his arms for nearly twelve hours, and it wasn’t until after the rooster’s cries that a nun, after the people at the church belatedly had realized that the woman was missing, appeared in the doorway and found them there on the floor.

 

 

He left the city a few days later. He had nothing keeping him there any longer, and if he left now, he would be sure not to be late to the magic knights entrance exam. He left behind a grave, decorated with a few measly flowers.

 

 

It was a long trip, but eventually he was there, in the city he had wanted to go to since the first time he had heard of it. The magic knights entrance exam was still a ways away, so he found work at a butcher’s shop until the time came for it. There, he managed well as an apprentice. He had been promised a continued position there, if he were to fail the exam. It felt good to have a fall-back option, and staying in town would give him opportunities to try again. When he entered the venue in which the exam was held, there were already many people in there. High up above, seven people were seated, and behind each of them stood one or two people. A ginger woman in a red cape and two other tall gingers behind her; a woman with dark curls in a blue cape with another woman behind her; a man in a pink cape with a woman and a man behind him; a white-haired man in a fur-lined cape with another white-haired but much younger man behind him- he was probably the youngest person up on the balcony, and couldn’t be much older than Jack; a woman in a green cape with no people behind her- was what he thought, but he could see the top of a head somewhere behind the rail; a large man in a purple cape with another two men, one large and one slender, behind him; and a man with a blue-grey cape and two men behind him. The man in the blue-gray cape stood, and introduced himself as the head examiner; his name was Julius Novachrono and he was captain of the Grey Deer. Nobility, probably, or at least fancy enough to have a last name.

 

After a series of tests, Jack ended up getting into the squad lead by the woman in the green cape; the Green Mantis. The woman was brash and, in Jack’s opinion, very likeable. The person with her, the tiny person he had been unable to see at first, was the vice captain, and a woman of far more power than her stature indicated. The captain, too, was short in comparison to Jack, but when faced with the other new members of the squad, she seemed to be above average height.

 

Being sent out on missions was fun, particularly if they involved fighting. Being a member of the magic knights was far different from being a slum rat disemboweler, and he enjoyed it far more. He got to cut up as many enemies as he liked, and he got praised for it.

 

It was when he, together with a few other members of the Green Mantis, were sent on a mission with some members of another squad, that his life took another sudden turn.

 

The members of the Silver Eagle were all stuck up little noble snobs, just like the people he used to pickpocket growing up, whereas the Green Mantis was a bit of a mixed bag. All of them were seriously tiny; and Jack couldn’t help but comment on how they shouldn’t be blowing up their egos from such short heights. He was not well-liked for his comment, or for the other comments that he made following that one. But he didn’t really care.

It was the sharp eyes, a purple blue, that drew his attention. Sharp eyes and a mop of pale white hair. It was the boy he had seen on the balcony behind the captain of the Silver Eagles during the entrance exam. There was something about those eyes that drew him in. Something dark and sharp, like a blade against skin and the taste of blood.

Inside the dungeon, the group split up, and Jack ended up with Young Master Sharp Eyes and another Mantis. The Mantis, a more senior member, was caught up by the magical propensities in the copper decorations lining the walls, and she was particularly captivated by the detailed beast depicted on the door they eventually got stuck at. “Leave this to me,” she had said when it turned out that the door was locked. He was pretty sure she just wanted to examine the door in peace before Jack ended up slicing it apart.

But he let her at it for a while, and he focused on the Eagle. He was pretty. Far too pretty for a man, but his voice indicated that he should be one. Probably. You never knew; Jack’s captain was born a man but didn’t see herself as one. “Hey, Sharp Eyes,” Jack called. Initially, the boy didn’t recognize him, but when he seemed to realize that the female Mantis wasn’t acknowledging Jack, he eventually turned only his gaze toward him. “What?”

“What’s your name?” It was a simple question, but apparently, it wasn’t one that dignified an answer, because the boy’s retort was, “None of your business.”

Jack barked out a laugh. It was easy to shove the pretty little noble against a wall. “Alright, Little Lord None Of Your Business, that sounds like the most noble of names.” He caged the nobleman against the wall, and the boy turned his gaze up, up. Man, he was short. Adorable. And- And his cheeks were slightly flushed. Intrigued, Jack slipped a hand across the other boy’s shoulder, pressed his thumb to his throat. The noble stood still, staring up at him, refusing to avert his gaze. Jack scraped his nails across his skin. The boy let out a sharp breath. Jack scraped a little harder, enough to leave red marks in his pale skin. Nearly soundlessly, the boy shuddered under his touch. “Oh.” _Really_ interesting.

Jack leaned in close to the little lord’s ear. “You _like_ that,” he remarked. “ _Pain._ ” The young man shook his head, and sucked in another breath as Jack’s nails scraped across his skin again. The sounds that he was making-... “Don’t be ridiculous, commoner.” A smile slashed across Jack’s face. “You know I’m not. Or maybe you don’t? Wanna figure it out? I won’t tell. Such a pretty little bird, I’d enjoy helping you figure yourself out.” He heard the boy’s lips part, saw it, wanted to press his lips to his— they looked so soft and kissable.

The sound of skin slapping against skin startled them both, and Jack pulled away, albeit reluctantly. The little lord’s face was flushed, and he pulled his arms around himself to appear collected and calm. Amusing guy. Jack was going to enjoy him. His fellow Mantis had not noticed what Jack had been up to. She had clapped her hands together when realization dawned upon her, and she spun around to face them just after Jack had pulled away. “So this gryphon!” she exclaimed. “To get past it, I think we can combine my copper and Nozel’s mercury!” The noble, Nozel apparently, scoffed. “Very well. But only because I want to get away from you filthy commoners as soon as possible.”

“Keep talking like that and you might get your tongue snipped off.” She made a scissoring motion with her fingers. Nozel rolled his eyes at her, and Jack laughed. Unfortunately, they had reunited with the other half of the knights soon after.

But that had been his first real encounter with Nozel Silva. It was not the last. They got more and more physical, as Jack tested the waters with the nobleman while nobody was looking — scrapes of teeth, digging nails, shallow cuts — and he was more and more fascinated by the way his body reacted and by the noises that he made. Such tiny little chirps, so delicious and cute. He wanted to devour him, and he wondered if his mother had started out just wondering what somebody that you cared about tasted like. Not that he would go down the same path as his mother; he wanted to cut this man, and he got to do it too, but only in serious fights did he actually want to kill him.

 

They met many times after that, they grappled bodily and verbally, Jack pulled Nozel close, pressed him up against walls, against tables, into beds. He tied ropes, belts, strings, against his skin, over, under clothes. Carved cuts into his skin, burned him with candle wax. He touched him everywhere, every slip of skin, every strand of hair, he seeped up every little sound that he made. He greatly enjoyed kissing him, nibbling, biting at his lips.

He was so pretty, be it spread out underneath him or completely pulled together.

Jack enjoyed every moment of it. Of _him_.

 

“What’re these?” Jack had asked once, when he spotted a golden medal depicting an eagle with its wings spread. He recognized it, though it was years since he had seen it. He had stolen a coin like that in what felt like a different lifetime, though it was only three years since then. Nozel looked up from the mission report he was working on, to look at the medal Jack was rolling between his fingers. It seemed a lot smaller, now that he was older and had grown even more. “Ah, that. It’s a token given to those doing work in the Silva name. They are used to prove the authenticity of their task.” Jack whistled, and he wondered what had happened to the coin that had provided the funds for his trip to become a magic knight. “What if they’re lost?” Nozel huffed. “Nobody would dare. Now put that down, it is not for the likes of you.” A few heartbeats after Nozel’s words faded, a smile cut across Jack’s face. “Oh yeah?” He twisted the medal between his fingers. “Five minutes to prove you wrong.” His predatory smile didn’t fade with the cold look that Nozel directed at him. Nozel claimed to not regret taking him up on that challenge, but it seemed like there was a mix of both, judging by the messy state he was in once Jack’s five minutes was up.

 

In bed, he stained sheets with drops of blood and swallowed moans of mixed pain and pleasure.

 

“Are you trying to strangle me, little bird?” Nozel peered down at his body at Jack, one of his elegant little eyebrows arched. He shifted his legs, wrapped around Jack’s shoulders and neck, closer to Jack’s skin. “Perhaps I am. You’re certainly enough of a menace for it to be reasonable. Jack hummed into Nozel’s skin, and his grin widened when he heard, when he felt, how Nozel shuddered at the sensation. He felt his cock press against his collarbone. “So sensitive, Princess,” he remarked with amusement, and he slipped his fingers across his skin, nails lightly scratching against it. Nozel’s legs tensed and tightened further, his breath came out in shivers and chirps. Jack nibbled at his skin, not really getting much reach. Or air, at intervals. Jack laughed, but didn’t explain himself to Nozel when a confused frown was aimed his way. Nozel winced when Jack’s teeth buried in his skin. But man, seriously, his little bird was just too fucking cute.

 

In an office he pressed lips behind an ear, then slipped his tongue across the tender skin.

 

The water rippled around them, splashed all over the floor when Jack pulled him into the tub. Nozel hissed as soap got into his wounds, and his body shook as he kept the pain at bay. Once he got used to the sensation he shifted over to the opposite side of the tub from Jack, he crossed his arms over his scratched-up chest, and glared past ruffled bangs. Jack’s little bird was so pretty, wearing such a startled, disgruntled look. Jack snatched the healing tool off the table by the tub, tossed it at Nozel, and when the older man snatched the egg out of the air Jack pushed forward, loomed over him and caught his lips in a bruising kiss. He felt the warmth from the water share space with the warmth from the barrier of the healing tool, laughed at the slip of fingers that had accidentally activated the magic, and kissed him again. “You’re unbelievable,” Nozel remarked when he noticed how hard Jack was, even though it was not even quarter of an hour since they had last fucked, and despite how they had been at it for a few hours already. Jack grinned, slipped a hand down the man’s chest, wrapped a hand around his cock. Nozel let out a little chirp. “I think you’ll manage, little bird.” He always managed beautifully.

 

In bed, he brushed lips against a shoulder and he murmured words to catch his little bird’s attention, but he lied and didn’t voice his feelings.

 

 

But.

 

He messed up. He messed up badly.

Because he never had intended to truly fall in love with the man, had never intended to have his relationship with him lead to his death, had never intended to make him hate him intentionally, as a way to protect him even though he realized how fucked up of him that was.

He had messed up and it had led to his own demise.

He had messed up and it led to his beloved little bird’s misery.


	4. Painfully, Yours For Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains various things, such as interrupted suicide, death, treason, execution, verbal abuse, gore, violence, and a lot of mental distress.
> 
> I absolutely forgot to mention that this is for the _Stabbing_ prompt, and that I've taken liberties with it.

Initially, he had no idea where he was, but as the fog of sleep lifted he came to recognize the canopy of his bed in the Silva’s castle. Nozel pushed himself up to sit. Mid-motion, his body tensed at the sudden pain, and he curled in on himself, grasping at the sheets and gasping for air like a drowning man. Everything rushed back to him with brutal clarity.

He pressed a hand to his throat, to the bandages wrapped around it. His back ached. He had refused to let anyone heal him magically; he didn’t want to lose the wounds yet, didn’t want to lose the reminder of the mistakes that he had made. (But was that it? He didn’t know why he had insisted.) At this rate, he would end up allowing the wounds to leave behind scars left behind by sharp teeth, a hidden blade. (Why, though? Why was he doing this to himself?)

He had been dreaming for what felt like a lifetime. It had been vivid and clear, as if he were fully awake. He had seen another life — _Jack’s life_ — through eyes not his. Why? How had his mind made up such details? He had never been told many details about Jack’s past. And _why_ would he make up such details? Was his mind trying to make up an excuse? Was it trying to defend the feelings, the fact that he had suddenly been taken over by such uncontrollable regret that he lost control over his capability to stand, his composure, and his voice?

Not even once had Jack actually claimed to love him, so why was his dreams adding something like tender touches and unsaid words of affection, when they never could have happened?

Wasn’t what Jack had said and done to him in the prison cell proof of that? He had just used him, all these years—

Maybe it was his shame at having been unable to _not_ enjoy what Jack was doing to him that made his mind need an excuse. That Jack had done what he did not because he didn’t care, but because he cared _too much_.A twisted excuse like _I need to make him hate me so he won’t suffer_ was just messed up. But it was an excuse. But it shouldn’t be. But he didn’t want to hate him, he didn’t want the fear and shameful pleasure that had permeated him during those moments in the prison cell to corrupt all the good memories that spanned near a decade. He didn’t want to think that he only had been with him to prove to himself that he could fuck a royal in all sorts of corrupt ways. He didn’t want that.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to think. He didn’t know what he was supposed to _feel_.

Nozel let out a scream that tore at his throat.

“Cease that incessant ruckus this instant.”

The voice made him freeze, unable to breathe, and pure hatred poured into his veins. His fingers slowly grasped the sheets tightly, creasing the emblem blazoned across the cover. He could feel his father’s gaze burn, imagined that they might scorch holes through his skin and turn him to dust.

It was father who had done this. No matter what Jack had done in the darkness of that cell, it was his father’s fault. If not for him, then Nozel would have still been able to escape into that bony, sharp embrace. It didn’t matter if he had been tricked, if he had been cheated, if he had been used. His relationship with Jack, messed up and built on twisted pleasure as it were, had been what kept him warm during cold nights, it was what seeped into his loneliness and held it at bay. The pain in his heart, his soul, had been swallowed up by the pain in his skin, had etched itself into his very being and enabled him to feel whole.

And his father had taken that from him. Maliciously, out of pride and insult, because no matter how much Nozel pleaded and explained, the man refused to listen, refused to accept that getting bedded in such fashions by Jack _had been his choice_.

And now. Now he had nothing. Once again, he had nothing. He didn’t even have the pretense of love left.

“Stop sulking, it’s unsightly. You have been corrupted. You are to remain here until you have returned to your senses. Passing out from witnessing a beheading, you have grown pathetic.”

The hatred made it feel as if the blood inside of him was boiling.

And it was easier to focus on the anger than it was to focus on the fear and the insecurity and the doubt.

“Go take a bath, the maids will clean away the barriers.”

His father left, but the hatred did not.

 

The water was neither hot or cold, tempered by magic into the perfect temperature. He wished that the water had been either scalding hot or freezing cold. He had tried to scrub the bad memories away repeatedly, scrubbing his skin raw and red despite how soft the sponges were, had scratched bloody lines in his skin with his nails while his father had kept him locked up in the castle.

But the wounds still stung as they were lowered beneath the soapy water surface, and it brought the memories that he didn’t want to think about to mind. Jack had— It was bizarre. Despite everything that they had done together, despite how dangerous he knew Jack to be, he would never have imagined that Jack would do anything to him against his will. He also hadn’t believed — wondered sometimes, but that was different — that Jack was just using him because he thought it was funny to corrupt a royal. Nozel raked his nails across his upper arms. Had there been signs of that being true? His mind was even muddier on the details because they mixed with the dream that insisted that it was all lies- that Jack had actually cared for him a lot. So was what he had said in the dungeon wrong?

Not everything, judging by the dream. He said that he had murdered, he had brought up disembowelled women, had indicated that he was the one who had done that, and in the dream he had done exactly that. Should Nozel go to that town called Farka to find out if it was true? He had said that he had murdered his mother, and the dream had shown him doing that. But she had wanted him to, or at least it seemed that way. But was that real? He couldn’t know without confirmation. But he didn’t know if he wanted to do that. If he wanted it to be true or if he wanted it to be fabrications.

He didn’t know if he wanted to know any truth, he just wanted to remember to good stuff. If it weren’t for Solid, this last month wouldn’t have happened. Solid only had been concerned for Nozel’s well-being but that concern had still ruined everything- But father knowing was what broke everything. This wouldn’t have happened if he, if father or if Solid or if anyone had not found out. He didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel- He winced as he felt pain in his arms, and he looked down at his blood-stained fingers. He couldn’t even tell what he was feeling right now, everything inside him was in a turmoil. He felt his mind go numb, he watched the blood drip down his arms, down his hands, blossom into small red clouds in the water. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. How did you behave, after something like this?

 

 

His father had always been a distant man. He may not turn as cold words as he did toward Noelle toward his other children, but his words nonetheless never held any warmth.

Nozel had relied on his mother's love, for fourteen years. It was the only love he had ever received from his parents. He sucked up her love like a sponge, lived on it for years after her death. Only allowing himself to tap into that reserve when he was at his absolute lowest, scared that the memories might one day fade and be nothing but images, the way his memories of his father were. Monochrome with a tin box sound, void of all emotion.

When he was in his late teens, he had become unable to find it without knowing why. He had become terrified. He had been grasped by loneliness and cold. He had been lost, drifting among an ocean of dark emotions in which he felt he was drowning. Rising in the ranks was meant to make everything fall into place, it was the way his father saw it, but it did nothing for Nozel’s mental state.

A sharp, barked out laugh and gleaming eyes- a warped smile- a shove, had found him, had dragged him forcibly out of the raging ocean. Exploring hands invading his every crack warmed him, made his insides boil and burn and crave. Words, action, touches, warm cruelty, they had saved him from himself.

And with the fading of a raspy breath that continued spewing terrible, terrible things until the end, the darkness returned. It crashed down upon him like a giant wave, it swept him into the depths and it tried to tear him to pieces.

 

 

The fresh, crisp bed sheets crinkled as he sat down on the bed. His windows were no longer locked, no longer warded to hinder him from leaving the confines of his bedchamber, the way they had before.

There was no place for him to go. Not where he could feel that for even just a moment, the world was right.

He stared blankly at the drawn curtains, heavy and darkening the room with its shadows. There were barely visible, intricate details in the fabric, pure white silver thread in white. They bore the crest of the Silva family in the center, same as the bedspread on top of the sheets.

With a sudden wave of anger wrapping around his heart and rising in his throat, Nozel suddenly flew to his feet and he tore at the curtains, ripped them down from the window and both gilded frame and heavy hangers crashed to the floor with a loud crash.

He tore the family crest with his mercury, used its blades to shred the crest to nothing. It left a large, gaping wound in the beautiful curtain.

He went loose on the other curtains as well, rushed to the next window with hatred burning in his chest and the window blew out, glass raining toward the ground far below, and he tore down every single curtain, shredded every single crest. He ripped a wooden chest to pieces, and splinters lodged in his skin though he didn't care. He smashed the wardrobe and gained deep wounds cut into his face. Nozel’s bandages had come loose and his old wounds reopened. Blood stained pristine cloth and gleaming furniture. He tore the clothing, he ripped the bedspread from the bed and down scattered in the room as knives of mercury tore at everything, carved deep bleeding wounds into walls, bedposts, tables, floor, fireplace.

He stopped, but only to calm his raging breath and wildly beating heart. He still held so much emotion inside his chest.

Everything in the room was an utter mess, but all he saw as he stood in the middle of the mess he had caused to both himself and his rooms was the things still left unbroken. It needed to be broken, everything needed— Everything was in pieces, a disarray, mirroring the chaos in his mind. _It wasn’t enough._ His breathing was rough, his shoulders heaved, and his skin was tight with drying blood, his eyes burning with tears refusing to fall.

When he heard a knock his head snapped up and he stared with wide eyes at Fuegoreon, and he met his flabbergasted gaze.

“What do you want?” Nozel’s voice came out raspy and worn, and he wondered if he had been screaming. He wondered how his father had not sent someone to stop him from tearing everything asunder.

“I wanted to see how you were doing, since I heard that you had woken up...” Fuegoreon’s gaze flickered across the room, taking in what of the mess that he could see from the doorway. “You have been asleep for days- are you, why have you caused all this destruction? It’s not like you.”

Nozel looked away. His movements were stiff because of wounds in his skin and flesh and blood both wet and dry covering his skin. He collected pools of fallen mercury, made them form into an orb which shrunk in size until it had disappeared into nothingness. “I’m not sure about that.” Fuegoreon didn’t know everything about him. He didn’t know how much pain he constantly was in.

Fuegoreon regarded him with silence for a long time, until he asked, “Did you actually love him?”

The question made Nozel both freeze in place and flinch. He pressed his lips tightly together. “No,” he said with certainty in his voice. “Maybe. I thought that I didn’t, but I also thought that I did. Now I don’t know.” He turned his gaze back toward Fuegoreon. “It doesn’t matter anymore, either way.” He didn’t know what expression he was making. Whatever it was, Fuegoreon seemed to be shook to his very core. But maybe it was the admittance of his feelings. Nozel turned his gaze toward the outside, looking past the broken glass shards sticking out of the frame. Eventually, he turned his gaze back toward his rival and friend. The reason that he had remained silent appeared to be the shock.

For Nozel’s part however, he had managed to cool down considerably, and he had pulled his composure back in place. “Fuegoreon, you may want to take your leave. You don’t want to get involved.” Fuegoreon flinched. “What do you intend to do?”

Nozel pressed his lips together, considering. But no, it would be better if Fuegoreon didn’t know the details. “Vengeance.” More, he would not say. “It would be better for you not to know.”

Perhaps he could call it retribution. After all, the accusations had initially been false. Initially. He didn’t know what to think about Jack right now, but he knew that had his father not gotten involved, nothing would have been out of the ordinary. (Solid was also partly to blame, but he had done what he did out of actual concern. Nozel felt resentment toward his younger brother, but he had not been acting out of malice or selfishness.) Retribution was not the same, though. In the end it was vengeance that he sought, not retribution. Because the only one left to care was him. Or maybe not- he didn’t know for sure. It didn’t matter. This was not to make anyone else feel better, nor was it due to a desire to restore a moral balance. It was only for himself. Because he needed to focus on _something_ , he couldn’t simply stay holed up, under his father’s thumb where he would only feel worse. And focusing on the anger was far more preferable to the fear.

“Nozel, you-...” Fuegoreon looked to be at a loss for words. That was for the better, anyway. “Leave, Fuegoreon. I have things to do and don’t have time to entertain your sympathy. It will make no difference either way. The only thing you can do is stay out of my way.”

 

 

Nozel planned, he played the long game, however impatient he was. But he could not rush it. The more he rushed it, the more reckless he may become, and the more easily he may be discovered.

It took months to prepare everything, he returned to work, he sent subordinates on missions, saw his squad gain more and more stars, accepted new members to the Silver Eagles, and even was forced to see his sister get accepted into a Magic Knight squad; during that time, his desire to hide in the bony embrace he had known for so many years, the cutting touches, the rough kisses, had been unbearable then.

It was at a ball in the King’s Hall that he finally knew that everything had fallen in place and was settled to satisfaction. Everything would be over soon.

He had approached his younger brother a few days prior. Because even while he understood his motivation to tell their father about what he had seen Jack do, he had come to understand that the resentment that he felt wasn’t going away so easily. Solid had been with Nebra at the time, and he knew that Solid had told her in much more detail than he had told their father- though he had told father enough, far too much- and she just as Solid, visibly carried a hatred toward the dead man Nozel still wasn’t entirely sure what to feel about even though they didn’t know the truth.

The disbelief was still clear, even days later. The two were by themselves most of the ball, but this was nothing unusual in itself. But he could feel their gazes follow him. Trying to understand him and the truth he had spilled.

It was not strange that they didn’t believe him. Who would? Had he been in their position, he wouldn’t have believed a single word. That he had allowed Jack to deliberately harm him repeatedly, that he enjoyed it, that it made him feel better about himself. That he kept tools for healing close at hand for this specific reason, so that nobody would know what he was up to. That he, though unsure about it, may have been in love with him. That he might still be. That his death hurt him daily. He hadn’t been able to talk about the attack in the dungeon at first, but because it had gotten back to his father, it had reached their ears as well. So though it was difficult, he told them about that as well. That he didn’t know what to think about it. That it confused him and made him unsure of what to believe about the man.

It was during that conversation- though it couldn’t really be called a conversation, because his two siblings sat staring in mostly silence, shocked and incredulous- it was then that he had fallen silent, as the realization that Jack had, not once during his attack in the dungeon, called him by the nickname that he used for him- he had not once called him his little bird. Princess, yes. But the little bird endearment had always meant more to Nozel. It had been a nickname that had, when spoken by that man, warmed him and made him feel safe no matter the situation. Even when a knife carved marks into his skin and teeth broke it, and blood stained the sheets.

Solid and Nebra had not understood his sudden silence either. Nozel wondered if Jack had refrained from using that nickname because he knew how much it meant to Nozel. He didn’t tell them about that. He didn’t tell them that he wondered if it changed things for the better if even a little, or if it only made them worse. The pain was immense.

Solid and Nebra had not understood how he could have enjoyed it, being with Jack, being with Jack _like that_ , but Solid seemed to realize that he was at fault. Since then, Solid seemed even more wary of Nozel’s moods. Perhaps it was for the best that Solid was avoiding him right now.

He felt Fuegoreon’s gaze on him across the room, as he often did whenever they were in the same room since his admission. Fuegoreon didn’t approve, but he had not pried, and he didn’t know what Nozel had done. Not yet.

He would not forgive him, once he realized. If he realized. He probably would at some point, but not until it was too late.

 

 

Everything came crumbling down when the King summoned the entire Silva family. It was clear that he could not understand how a relative, a _royal_ , had plotted against him. Had conspired with an enemy nation, plotted to overthrow him and replace him.

But he was terribly angry.

Nozel had been very careful, and incredibly meticulous. It proved fruitful when nobody — not even Fuegoreon though he had known that Nozel would do _something_ , he had not expected that he would bring down the entirety of the Silva family in his desire for vengeance on his father — knew that he had been machinating everything to turn out this way.

His siblings were in shock, and it showed on their faces. Nozel, who was much more involved in politics than the rest of them, masked his shock well. _As expected of the eldest son, he’s so composed_ ; that was what the whispers later would say. His father’s shock was determined to be due to his shock of being discovered. After all, it was a very small mistake, just a letter that was slightly misplaced in the wrong moment, that had led to the discovery of his betrayal.

The King was livid. He could not accept or forgive treason. In reality, he wanted to execute them all. This was to be expected— the King threw temper tantrums the way a child did, and ordered executions far too often for a noble king.

Lord Julius would not agree to it. Of course he wouldn’t. After all, the children were not responsible for the father’s sins. He tried to advocate leniency for them all, at least initially, but there was no way that the perpetrator would get away with it. The children, however, would be allowed to keep their lives. But they would be stripped of their titles, of their ranks, and they would not be allowed to keep living within the castle walls— He wanted Nozel to be demoted, and Nozel was secretly fine with this. Surprisingly, he was allowed to keep his position, but only under many special conditions that would last until he appointed a new captain, which he would have to do before the year was out. There was still many months left of the year, so he did not need to make a hasty decision. Then, he were to retire completely from the Magic Knights.

Merely taking his father’s life would not have been enough. His father would die for his pride. But having his father see that pride crushed with the destruction of his legacy, of the good name of the Silva family, that was different. Without the ruin of the Silva name, his father would not break. He had not broken when mother died. He would not break in the face of execution. But this— this _did_ break him.

The proud noble man crumbled, suddenly brittle and old, and they all saw how he spiraled.

Lord Silva would never conspire against the King in a desire to claim the throne for his house? That was not something anyone could say without it sounding false. What made this plan that much more easy to execute was the fact that his father was ambitious, and indeed would jump at the chance to see the Silva family elevated to the throne.

With the decision that the elderly Silva patriarch were to be placed on the chopping block, Nozel was pleased. The rest was necessary collateral. Once the execution was carried out, he was finished.

 

 

It was the cold gaze. It was what made father understand what had happened. What had led to this. He realized who had betrayed him. He never would have believed that Nozel would do something like this, frame him for treason, ruin their family, lead him to his death, despite how he had taken the one person Nozel cared for the most away from him.

Heat befitting Vermillion fire more than Silva water burned in his eyes as he turned his gaze upon Nozel. He swore, spat cruelties over his eldest son, and he bellowed a curse upon him. Nozel remained cool, quiet, and didn’t let his gaze sway. _You deserve this,_ he tried to convey through his gaze. _You brought this upon yourself._

There was nothing left to lead the crime back to Nozel.

And no matter how father cursed and protested, nothing could change his fate.

Nebra and Solid clung to each other, stricken with grief. Noelle was wrapped around herself and leaning against her captain’s large frame for both mental and physical support. Nozel stood alone, rigid, staring at his father as his yells were silenced by a blade of magic.

Nozel watched as blood pooled on the ground, watched as father's coat stained a deep red, watched as the light went out of his eyes.

Watched, with cool indifference, as the man who had brought him into this world breathed his last wet breath and his head stopped rolling.

Eventually, it all came to an eerily quiet halt. The execution ground started to clear out. Nozel watched the fresh blood gleam on top of the old, dried blood that was stuck in the stone. Some of that blood was Jack’s— He didn’t want to think about that.

He turned, his cloak billowing behind him as he left the execution ground behind.

 

Once outside again a movement caught at the corner of his perception, he looked up, followed the movements of a small white bird in flight across the blue, cloudless sky.

The air was cool and fresh, the smell of iron and blood getting washed out of his nostrils by the wind.

 

His siblings were all well situated. They would mourn, but they would manage. All three of them would survive well in their respective squads, despite the soiled family reputation. Being humbled would do them good, and their cousins would not abandon them.

 

Nozel headed down the path, away from the prison.

Revenge was a terrible business. It was ugly, and it was cruel to the innocents dragged into it.

But now, he was done.

And so tired.

The lake stretching beyond the royal capital lay calm. Its surface reflected the starry night sky, and bats swooped down to catch insects hovering there. It was a beautiful sight, and a calm evening.

He didn't know if Hell existed or not, but now, he was done, and he would leave behind no regrets upon leaving this world behind.

 

A voice calling his name stopped him on his way. The black water speckled with stars rippled around his legs. He looked over his shoulder, and he saw the captain of the Golden Dawn behind him, standing at the edge of the shore. His face was hidden by the darkness surrounding them. Nozel said nothing. William stepped into the lake and up to him, and placed a hand on his arm. Nozel’s gaze shifted down to the touch, and then up again, to William’s face. There was a concerned bend to his lips, and a frown in his eyes. The rest of his face was as obscured by the mask as it always were.

“You did do it, didn’t you?” His voice was soft, and lacked any note of accusation within it. Nozel’s lips tightening seemed an indication, a confirmation, judging by the small, concerned smile that made way onto William’s lips. “Why do you believe that?” Nozel finally asked. William moved his hand away from Nozel’s sleeve, and lifted it to his neck, slipping his fingers around the fringe of his collar. “Only a true curse leave marks.”

Nozel’s frown seemed to tell William that Nozel didn’t see where such a statement came from. “How would you know such a thing?”

William hesitated. He moved his hands up to his helmet, and slipped it off. His face was covered in dark marks, like scars, but different. Nozel was reminded of the supposed memory that wasn’t his, the sight of a face marked by burns and scratches. He lifted his hand to touch the younger captain’s face, to feel its texture. It was rough yet smooth at the same time, a bit scratchy. A little like sand, perhaps. “This is?”

William slipped his helmet back on, and his body frame relaxed. It appeared as if he was highly uncomfortable with showing his face to others. “A curse,” he said, but offered no explanation yet. At the moment, Nozel didn’t particularly care if he did or not. “Or so I have surmised. I have tried to find a way to remove it, which is why I know that only true curses leave such marks.” Nozel lifted his hand to his own neck; his skin had the same sand-like texture, ripples like cuts, merging with the scars left behind by Jack’s teeth. “I see. I will need to ensure it is covered up.”

The water rippled quietly, reflecting light, as William took a step forward. “Will you, truly?”

Nozel let his hand fall, and he met William’s gaze. A knowing gaze. Words and eyes, holding similar feelings. As if he knew Nozel’s thoughts on a personal level.

“No.”

William’s lips turned into a pale, straight line. He did know, then. Was it thoughts that he, too, had had at some point?

“Don’t.”

Nozel felt his face tighten.

“And you expect me to simply allow myself to be found out? My siblings will manage on their own. They’ll cope.”

William slipped a hand into Nozel’s; though he didn’t know why, Nozel let him. William’s touch was too gentle, but it was the only touch he had properly felt, skin to skin, in a long time now. In months. He looked at their interlocked hands in silence.

“Perhaps so. But I don’t believe you to be that careless. And are you truly done?” Nozel’s gaze turned questioning, when it was once more directed at William’s face. “Lord Silva- Your father- Is not the only one who would do things such as this. If this country remains as it is, then nothing will ever change, and more people will get separated like you were, because of prejudice and a lack of acceptance and understanding. Just for being in love with the wrong person.” Nozel’s grip tensed reflexively. _Love._ Love was a strong word— Love was a true word— Was it a true word? William didn’t complain about his hand nearly getting crushed in Nozel’s grip. “It can’t remain like this. You could make a difference.”

“Perhaps so.” He forced his hand to relax around William’s. “You intend to see this country change?”

William’s hand was sure around his. “Yes.”

Nozel gazed down at the stars strewn out beneath them and the shadows that blocked them out. It would do nothing for him, for what had already happened, but- _but—_

“Fine.”


	5. Epilogue: And for the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, much much shorter than the rest of the chapters,. It doesn't really have any warnings except, I suppose, it shows that there will be divergent from canon as a result of it.
> 
> On another note, or on the Bad Things Happen Bingo note, I take fill requests and I only have two claimed. Just drop by my tumblr (okumenffs) or dreamwidth (okumen).

_I’m not so sure about this._

The voice echoed within his mind, a wary tone to it. William let out a breath of air that wasn’t quite a sigh. His fingers kept combing through smooth, pale hair, and the breath brushing his collarbone remained steady.

“It’ll be useful,” he murmured, so quietly that it didn’t hold a sound. But Patri would hear the words. “I know how you feel, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have an insider.”

 _I trust your judgement, however he is of the most treacherous family- He may have proven himself in a sense but he saw to a death of one of them for the sake of revenge for a_ human _. And he betrayed his own._

“Am I not doing the same?” William thought of Julius. He thought of the other captains, his parents, the members of his squad. He thought of Yami. “There is no turning back.”

He felt the unspoken words that didn’t pass between them.

William could still turn his back on Patri’s plan; there were many things that Patri could not do, if he couldn’t be in control of their body, and if William didn’t let him take over, or if he decided to tell the humans the truth, it would put a stopper in Patri’s plans- plans that he had created together with William, plans that were still barely in motion.

“We’ll have to do some revisions,” William told him, and he knew that it would in one way make things more difficult, to recruit the Silva. In other ways, it would help. Another captain, _a royal_ , even if disgraced and on limited time, could get access to places and people in other ways than William could. They needed to revise the plans regarding Fuegoreon. As soon as they had the magic stones, they would manage the rest as intended. Once they had all the magic stones and the elves were all revived and awakened properly, then—

William didn’t finish the thought, just in case it slipped through the connection between them.

_I guess. It may make things somewhat more subtle. They don’t need to know of our presence just yet._

“And if they don’t know, they can’t attempt to hinder-....”

William fell silent when he felt Nozel shift in his arms, drawing in a deep breath created by sleep, and press further into his embrace. Nozel had allowed him to lead him out of the water, to the empty Silva mansion, and there they rested. He didn’t wake up. William thought of how peculiar it was to see such a man asleep, how peculiar it was to see his face wrinkle in dreams and then smoothen out as they dissipated. The shadow of a nightmare playing in his mind, in his skin. He wondered how Jack had been allowed to see him; it was clear that the man had meant a lot to him. Or else he wouldn’t be laying in William’s arms now in the first place.

 _Humans... Wretched beings,_ he heard Patri mutter. Felt how unsettled he was over how the situation had changed.

“Don’t worry, my dear friend,” William murmured in assurance. “It will all work out in the end.”


End file.
